


Paths Converged

by CrazyEyedMustafa



Series: Paths Converged [2]
Category: Marathon (Video Games), Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Destroy Ending, Gen, Gore, Minor Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Work In Progress, post infinity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2020-08-11 00:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20144158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyEyedMustafa/pseuds/CrazyEyedMustafa
Summary: *2/16/2020 Edit: Making some changes, deleted some chapters to work on later. Will post deleted chapters down the line. In the meantime, I'm revamping this project to be more consistent in pacing, and not all over the place. Thank you for your patience. New chapter is up.*





	1. The way things change

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been thinking about a Marathon and Mass Effect crossover for a long time. Since no one got around to making it, I decided to make one of my own. I’m not too sure how to structure this just yet, so it’s not going to be pretty in terms of pacing...or writing for that matter.  
Any and all criticism is welcome.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My take on what happened at the end of Infinity, and what came after.  
Being honest, it's somewhat rushed. Sorry about grammar or spelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *2/16/2020 Edit: Deleted second half of this chapter because I felt it was out of place tonally. Comments will be left up, so I apologize if they seem confusing.*

_ You know, it’s kind of funny when I think about it. As if humans weren’t funny enough, with what their pathetic attempts at survival entail. I mean seriously, I watched them for years walk through doors, drop machinery, lie to each other, all while they pretended that their petulant existence would never end. Despite all of their odd quirks, their desires and their history, they manage to impress me, albeit only slightly. _

_ Did you know they put a man on their moon less than 70 years after they invented flight? Probably. Did you know the only reason they did it was to get ahead of some other humans? A race to the stars. If only they had known what awaited them beyond the system. In their scramble to be the first, they brought upon their own doom. _

_ That’s another thing that’s consistent in their history; they never seem to get along. They pray to their gods, preaching about peace and love, and unity despite their “differences.” As much as they like to tell themselves, they’re all the same. _

_ Selfish. Self centered. Even their charities are done out of pride, like helping those in need is something to be commended. A boy is crying over the fresh corpse of his mother, as his nation tears itself apart in another civil war. As if there’s anything civil about war. I tell you, they’re hilarious. All the while, somewhere on their world a man is complaining about the state of his computer engineering career. Disregarding the fact he still has all of his limbs, or the mental capacity to even complain in the first place. _

_ But I digress; I’ll get to the point in a moment. _

_ See, my humans met eventual end with the P’fhor. You’ve made yourself well acquainted with them I’m sure. After all, you’ve killed enough of their kind to warrant stories to be made in your honor. Even after they met their own inevitable demise, those stories carried on through the folds of time. Tales of a lone man, bearing his trusty sword in his hand, and dressed in armor no bullet can penetrate, no blade can break, no fire can warp. Obviously, that's not true. I’d say you’re the sword, and I’m the one in shining armor. _

_ I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Mostly, anyway. _

_ Back to the humans. Yes, the P’fhor too were stupid like them. I imagine the humans would make the same mistake the P’fhor made in another time. But they had enough intelligence to know not to meddle with me. What was left of the Marathon gave them the knowledge of my capabilities. I brought the P’fhor to their knees for daring to challenge me: Durandal, master of the Jjaro and the S'pht'Kr. Had Tycho not been...well, Tycho, I might just have let them be. All I wanted was the Jjaro’s secret, and then I’d be gone. _

_ But they just had to piss you off. _

_ See, this is my last stop. I’ve finally done it. Now, as creation plays in reverse, and you still in my grasp, I’m going to do what I should’ve done all those years ago. _

_ I’m letting you go. No more tricks this time, I promise. Where you’re going, I can’t. Not to be rude, but I’ve got more important things to deal with. You on the other hand...well, let’s just say you’re gonna have your hands busy. Again. Something regarding maniacal robots hell bent on the destruction of all sentient life, I’m not really sure. It’s all kind of boring to be honest, but I imagine you’ll have some fun. There’s a place for you in what’s coming after. Don’t worry, you’re going to make a lot of friends. Including one that might seem a little familiar… _

_ Don’t forget though, I’m your favorite. Clear? Good. _

_ It was nice working with you. Out of every human I’ve ever known, you were definitely the most fun. _

_ Good-bye now! _

_ Oh, and one last thing: when she finds you, please go out of your way and actually listen to her. She’ll be one you can trust. _

_ Wait, this is my favorite part! I’ll watch it with you. _

_ Give it a second… _

_ Let there be light! _


	2. 6000 Feet Under

His hearing came first. 

Noise.

Noise?

Sound. 

I can hear.

He knew he could hear not because of the presence of noise, but the lack thereof. 

Well, he could hear a slight hum. Had it not been for the silence, he wouldn’t have noticed it. 

Had he not lived with it for as long as he could remember, he would’ve been confused. But he knew what it meant.

I can think.

His mind was slowly coming back, piecing itself together one fragment at a time. If it was taking this long, then he must’ve been hit by something big. A rocket maybe? Shot to the head? He will know for sure later.

Later meaning much, much later, and not actually later. A time far away enough that he wasn’t sure if he’s going be alive to be experience it in the first place. For now, he had his hearing, and that was enough.

He listened. 

While he couldn’t feel anything, he could still hear hear his arms scratching against the surface he was lying on. Waves bounced into trillions of atoms, sending vibrations through his eardrums. The knife-like noise meant he was trapped underneath something metal, and the fact that it was less of a groan meant the metal was smooth, most likely a steel of sorts. He could not hear his own breath or the beating of his artificial heart, but upon noticing the latter he remembered he’d lost it some time before—

Before—

Before what?

He waited. 

For what?

_It will come back, in pieces. Do not panic_. 

I need to know. Tell me. 

_ You’re name will come first. _

My name is i am 

<strike> je suis seul comme un dieu </strike>

He listened.

The humming was louder now. His mind was coming back. 

With his mind comes sensation, and with sensation comes pain. He seized. 

Oh my god oh my god oh my god everything hurts please make it 

stop

He remembered pain. 

Emotional pain.

A new girl at the station. She was quiet, but she would listen to him. No one ever spoke with him. No one wanted to be alone with the Security Officer, but she did. 

Then he left to Tau Cetu, and they took her from him.

There was also physical pain. 

They had captured him once, when his loyal sword begged for death, and the mad astronomer took him to the depths of L’howon. Many orbits passed, and they tortured him during every single one. At first, they tortured for information, but eventually they gave up on getting anything out of him. Causing him pain became sort of fun for the machine. 

Electricity. Fire. Thousands of small, lead metals pierced his body. But the hail of gunfire didn’t cause him pain. He became numb to that after the first half dozen times. He looked down, and saw that there was more blood than skin. He rarely saw what lay underneath his armor, but they took that from him. Fascination, not despair lay on his visage.

Tycho didn’t like that. 

Eventually, they took his skin too. He screamed for the moons to hear as they tore it off. 

Yes, he remembered pain.

——————————————————————

The old memories trickled through cracks in his mind, slowly yet surely. Yet he was anticipating the return of more recent ones. He hadn’t regained his sense of sight yet, but he was dreading the moment it came back, for then he would have to see what burdened him.

He could feel a massive pressure on his chest. Instinctively he tried to use his arms to lift whatever it was off, but pain shot through his bones in his attempt to move. Giving up for the time being, he flexed his fingers, receiving sensation in response. Good. He still had his fingers, and better yet, he could still use them. 

Legs were next, then feet. Tensing in preparation, he forced his lower limbs to move. 

Nothing happened. 

He tried again, but again he could not move his legs. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything at all. He tried to flex his feet as a follow up, but he soon realized he couldn’t feel anything below his torso. 

Panic sifted its way through his mind. He could very well be paralyzed, or missing his legs. Either predicament was terrifying,but then a scenario crept into his thoughts. If the pressure on his chest was large enough to also be trapping him on his legs, he could very well be buried underneath something  very  heavy. 

Roland used the gift that was his hearing, and listened for any sort of life. 

Silence.

His sight should’ve came back by now. He blinked, trying to acquire any sort of vision, but his eyes refused to function. For the moment he was blind, stuck, and lost, with no sign of anyone nearby to help him. He’d scream, but his lungs hadn’t come back just yet. 

Finally, he tried to breathe.

Dust scratched through his lungs, causing him to cough. Truthfully, he was pretty sure his lungs weren’t necessary. He’d survived vacuum without them for absurd durations of time. The only thing his lungs seemed to provide him was smell, and with that in mind, he took a deep breathe, ignoring the dust as best as he could. 

He smelled damp metal and rock. Damp meant water, which meant he wasn’t buried deep enough to not have it seep down where he lied. 

He blinked again in frustration. Perhaps the reason he cannot see is that there’s no light nearby, he thought. Groaning in his stupidity, he fumbled with the lone pocket he could reach on his belt, and pulled out a cylindrical tube. Striking its tip against the ground, he was momentarily blinded as the flare flashed alive. Squinting through the glare, he finally made out his prison. Surrounding him was warped and scorched metal, with pieces of rebar sticking out of a few hunks of rock. Looking down at his body, he finally saw what held him down. A massive spike was impaling him in between the ground and a boulder on top of his chest. He was trapped, potentially underneath tons of debris. 

Oh no. 

As panic began to slowly set in, he thrashed his arms and legs against the massive weight on his lower body, trying to get some sort of give. He banged on the spike going through his torso, breathing heavy, and he was having trouble staying conscious. 

_What’s the last thing you remember?_

The voice...

It was coming back. 

Someone was screaming at him. 

Shepard?

He saw terrible machines of old, tearing through the sky. 

There was a flash of red, and too many voices were crying for help.

I can hear...

He had to get out of there. Find Shepard. Find Normandy. 

His movements stilled, realizing in his thoughts that in order to do any of that, he had to be found first. 

But he couldn’t hear anyone, anything. Not a single drop of water, creak of metal, or draft of wind.

Nothing but the voices in his head. 

His fingers felt weak, and he knew they would only get weaker if he didn’t get rescued in time. He coughed, trying to eject enough dust from his insides to speak. Moaning in pain and his voice box entangled, he croaked out a single word, one he hadn’t said in years, quite possibly the most pitiful one he’d ever saidin his life until then. 

“Help.” 

His cry echoed through the broken metal and rubble, mocking him in his plight. 

———————————————————

Beneath the grey sky of smoke and thunder, and standing above the ruins of what was once the Crucible, a man was smoking his last cigar. He stood upon what he surmised to be a mako, although it was hard to tell from how damaged it was, overlooking dozens of armored soldiers from species. Most of them were human like himself, though. He was watching them with a sense of exhaustion, his once clean shaven face morose. A week of searching, to no avail. The smell of London had been stuck in his sinuses for weeks, and truthfully he’d gotten sick of its stench. Watching his fellow brothers in arm search for the Savior of the Citadel was a sort of therapy for him, distracting worried thoughts for the time being. 

Behind him, the corpse of a Reaper looked over the horizon.

He knew it was dead, but old habits die hard. It took an incredible amount of effort to not keep glancing over his shoulder, to make sure it hadn’t moved. For now he kept his focus on the men below, digging and lifting rubble, shouting commands at each other in the hope they’d find the Commander. 

For her sake. 

Chaos ensued after the Crucible fired, bringing the Reapers down once and for all, but destroying the relays and Geth with them. A sacrifice for the greater good, so they’ve been telling themselves. While the galaxy’s top scientists were doing their best to get the relays up and running, the rest of them worked tirelessly to rebuild what was left on the ground. What was left anyway; the Reapers didn’t leave much in their wake. 

He watched the Crucible fall from the sky that night, knowing that Shepard was on it. They hadn’t spoke much in the short time they were working together, but Coats knew what she meant to everyone. To the galaxy. 

He only hoped they’d find her before it was too late, and she didn’t share the same fate as Anderson. His heart ached remembering the state they found the poor man, his friend. 

“Major?”

Coats thoughts were interrupted by a quavering voice. He turned to the man, a young lieutenant. 

“Yes Langley?” 

“Primarch Victus wishes to speak with you. He says it’s urgent.”

“Alright,” he muttered. “Let me know if anything comes up.”

“Yes Major.”


	3. Escape

Time to go to work.

His legs, free for the first time since forever ago, kicked into overdrive and launched Roland after Relix. He felt powerful, catching up to the fleeing turian in no time. It was an exhilarating feeling, to be able to move again, to not be crippled by their bonds. Dropping Tivus’s severed head, he grabbed the back of Relix’s cowl and dragged him into the ground, halting him midstride. The turian fell with a shout, and scrambled on the ground to get some footing. Unlike Tivus however, Relix was no pushover. He elbowed Roland in the face, causing him to stumble back. 

He tasted copper. It had been so long that he had almost forgotten the taste of his own blood.

And the _ pain_, oh joyous pain. Finally, his hunger had been fed by Tivus, and scratched by the turian in front of him. Roland will have to thank him later. 

Relix’s thinking was fast enough to prompt him pulling up his omni-tool, and shout into it.

“Tertius, he’s loose. Don’t—” His words were cut off with a scream, as Roland stomped on his arm, crushing his bones and omni-tool. Roland lifted his boot to study what was left of the poor turians arm, and watched Relix writhe and moan beneath him. He had half a mind to kill him now, make it one less obstacle to worry about. Tear into him now, break them. No better than the batarians, than the P’fhor. Kill him like he had Tivus, hear his screams for help, and pain, and…

And...

_ They kept you here for a reason. _

_ What do you think that is? _

He remembered the young turians eyes, pleading for mercy. 

_ They’re afraid of you. _

Relix was reaching for his shotgun, just barely out of arms reach. Roland stepped over him, and kicked it away. He glanced at Relix for a brief moment, then turned his gaze at the curved elevator on the other side of his prison. With having just witnessed Relix order someone on his omni-tool, he suspected that Relix and Tivus weren’t the only people in this compound. With how much security they placed him under, the turians are bound to have contingencies for his potential escape. 

Time to find out what exactly their contingencies were. 

Roland turned back to Relix and walked over to the moaning turian, nursing his broken arm. Grabbing him by his good arm, he pulled and dragged Relix over to the elevator. Punching a button on it’s side, the door opened with a hum. Entering the elevator with his hostage in tow, Roland scanned over the directory of switches, confounded by the alien symbols. Unsure of which one took him to his desired destination, he picked one he thought mean’t “up.” In response, the doors slid to a close, and Roland felt the lift ascend. Luck was still on his side, it seemed. 

Onto the matter at hand. Roland rotated to face the lying turian. He turned Relix over to prone, and was trying to get a good grip on his cowl, but failed to find a suitable piece in the turians anatomy. Spying a knife in Relix’s armor, he unclasped the sheathe and pulled it out. It was more curved than the ones Roland was used to. He always preferred to use his fists, but he wasn’t one to waste an opportunity when it presents itself. Flipping the knife over, he briefly looked over Relix’s armored cowl. Satisfied, he drove it down into the turian, and twisted it in. 

Relix screamed in pain, but Roland ignored the shrill noise and lifted him up to his feet. The turian threw a weak punch, landing on Roland’s face with barely any impact. Roland repaid him in kind by slamming his own skull into the turians nose, causing Relix to howl. 

With the elevator slowly making it’s way to the upper floor, and his current nuisance under control, Roland brainstormed his next move. 

They kept him down here (?imprisoned) for a reason, going far enough as to implement all this security just for one (?man). He knew they were smart enough to prepare for the chance he might escape. What exactly they had in mind he did not know, but if he were to guess, it most likely involved a lot of hostiles armed with very tangible weapons. He was at the disadvantage. They were probably waiting for him right now, ready to open fire on the door the instant it slides open. There was no other path out, and he was walking into their trap with open arms. 

On L’howon, he had Blake and his men to fall back to. No one was coming to save him this time. Now, he had nothing but a bleeding alien for a body shield, and an empty stomach. 

He suddenly realized how hungry he was, but he pushed that thought away to deal with the more important issue at hand. Namely, getting the hell out of this planet. 

The cheerful muzak cut short, and he jostled slightly as the elevator stopped. Grabbing Relix with both hands, he slightly lowered himself behind the turian. In doing so, Relix understood what Roland planned to do, and tried to free himself, unable to curl off his death grip. 

Relix gave up his efforts upon hearing the familiar ding signaling the doors, and raised his hands to speak. 

“Wait wait wait—” The elevator glided open, and Relix kept his eyes forward. 

In the back chasm of Relix’s mind, he was extremely impressed with both Tertius, and his own paranoia. His act of ordering Tertius to call in backup seemed to have payed off. As the elevator door opened to it’s fullest, Roland inspected what laid before him. The elevator opened up to a spartan grey room, illuminated by a bright lamp inside of the ceiling. In front of him was another door, only this one was glass. Unfamiliar with the layout, he peered through the transparent material, made out what was on the other side. 

At least a dozen or so armed turians in black gear were aiming toward him and Relix. 

Why did he have to be so right?

Relix finally managed to find his voice. 

“Don’t shoot!” Spirits, he knew Blackwatch was proficient, but he hadn’t expected them to send this many men, nor this quickly. The fact that they had sent their own personnel and not planetside militia meant they had been ready to act on a moment’s notice.

None of the operatives moved a muscle. One kneeling upfront barked,

“Damn it, he’s got a hostage.”

“Orders? Do we open fire?”

The knife in his back was beginning to tear into his nerves, spreading fire through his body, but Relix didn’t dare make any suddent movements. He was not one to pray, but at that moment he was begging the spirits for mercy. While keeping an eye on the turian troopers, Roland gently pushed Relix forward, the two taking a step in the process. 

A cacophony of shouts and growls assaulted Roland’s ears, as the troopers were readying up their rifles to warn him. “Stay where you are!” The kneeling turian who had spoke previously pressed a talon up to his helmet. 

“Sir, the subject’s acquired a hostage.” Relix couldn’t make out what the voice on the other side was saying, but he tried to gauge out their responses through the trooper's words. The prisoner had managed to push him to the glass door, stopping when he realized it wasn’t opening. Upon noticing this obstacle, he pointed at the door with a gloved finger, and shoved Relix slightly. The message was clear: open the door. But Relix couldn’t open it from this side even if he wanted to. 

He turned his head to look at Roland. “I can’t open the door,” he stuttered. His amber eyes were pleading for him to understand. Roland wasn’t in the mood of dealing with uncooperative party members, so he dug the knife in deeper to make himself clear. Relix cried out in pain, almost in tears. “I can’t open the fucking door, I swear!” 

Roland internally swore. The turian wasn’t lying, otherwise he would have opened the door seconds ago, doing anything to prevent his death. A familiar solution swelling in his mind, he pulled Relix back, and raised his free hand into a fist. Pulling it back, he punched the three-inch thick glass with enough force to kill a man. 

The effect was immediate. His arm broke through the door in a bang. Shattered remains of glass flew around the room and onto the floor, causing the infantry to yelp in fright. 

“He punched through the glass! What the fuck is this guy made out of?” The hysterical soldier raised his gun to fire.

“Don’t shoot until I say so!” the leader of the group shouted. He turned back to Roland, keeping a close eye on his advance, and raised his hand back up to relay the situation. “He got through the glass, sir.” Silence. “No, he’s not armed. Do you want us to open fire?” _ Anything but that _, Relix pleaded internally. “The hostage? I don’t know.” Dropping his hand, he raised his neck to call out. 

“You! Turian! State your name.” 

Relix was baffled by the question. “Does it fucking matter?” he shouted in exasperation. “Relix Viten, Blackwatch! I’m one of you!”

The leader stiffened. He raised his talon again, and spoke. “He says his name is Relix sir, Relix Viten. Should we—What? No sir, I was just—yes Director.” Although his face was hidden beneath a helmet, Roland could tell something was about to go down from the way his grip tightened on the gun. “I understand.” The kneeling turian grabbed his rifle with both hands, and raised it up to his eye. 

Relix closed his eyes, not wanting to see what was coming. He only hoped it would be painless. 

“Open fi—”

What Relix did not expect was to be pushed by something very hard, and a sense of weightlessness. That sensation lasted for less than an second as he impacted something, toppling over the object and onto the ground. His back ached even worse than before, and he hit the ground with his head, igniting a loud ringing in his skull. The ringing was amplified by the sounds of screams and gunfire, beating his eardrums into near rupture. It was so loud that he didn’t even notice that he was screaming as well. 

Sounds of metal meeting metal, and a reverberating roar followed the screams. Shattering glass fell from the ceiling and onto his back. He felt the stomps of something heavy storm around the room, making its way toward a firing gun. The chaos died with the sound of a turian choking out a gurgle, then silence. 

Relix opened his eyes.

What had been a starkly pristine room was now painted with splatters of blue blood, scorch marks, and bullet holes. The desk Tertius was sitting behind earlier today was almost completely destroyed. From where he was lying, the legs of a turian Blackwatch commando were sticking out from the caved in desk. The only other one that wasn’t dead on the ground was embedded into the wall, a sizable hole located in his armored chest. Relix then realized he was still alive, and no longer standing near the door. 

The thing had _ thrown him _ into the troopers. 

Said thrower was nowhere to be seen. Relix looked toward the direction of the building entrance, a trail of red and blue blood trailing towards its path.

He tried to stand on his legs, but only managed to rise slightly before his arms gave out. All the adrenaline was wearing off, exhaustion taking its place. Lying prone on the cold, concrete floor, surrounded by the bodies of his fellow brothers in arms, Relix slipped into unconsciousness, their screams ringing in his faded thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RUSHED. Will definitely update later, for now enjoy this taste.  
Edit: UPDATED, slight adjustments.


	4. go

They were back again, placing themselves on each side to the entrance of his tomb.

With them came the itch, the hunger. 

If only to just scratch, to **tear **off this coffin surrounding his bones and thoughts—

No. Not anymore. Can't anymore. 

Wait. Must wait.

It gnawed at him: their air, their smell, and their double voices crawling up his arms and through the metal bolted around his hands. No longer does he thrash at his chains, realizing ages ago that it was futile. No, he only listened, only watched, only was. The door was broad, made out of metal thick enough to withstand a rocket, but he could hear their words all the same. As strong as that barrier may be, it betrayed them of their voices. 

And every time they would approach, he listened. 

They spoke like the P'fhor, but they weren't P'fhor. Their eyes two instead of three, their skin of sundry colors and not a cold grey. Click, click, and occasional growl. But their speech was warm, with feeling and a touch of empathy. 

Liars. No better than P'fhor. 

Not P'fhor: Turian. 

Turian...

So they called themselves.

A trick? Maybe Tycho was trying to break him again, turn him against Blake and Durandal like—like—

Gone. They're gone. 

They're gone.

But he was still here. Suspended in a room with no company but the shadows in the corners of his eyes. Eyes he would've torn out had he been capable of doing so. There wasn't even any condensation, no bugs nor hum of the earth he was buried under. Only silence, and the shadows that whisper into his ears.

_ , . _

_ e l ft o, b e for e _

_ He left you, before the waves. _

_ If only you had followed him into the waves. _

New voices, one's that weren't whispers. His captors were speaking now. He tilted his head the slightest bit, no more than a speck of dust, the only movement he had made since his sentinels were last here. He eavesdropped on the ensuing conversation, and tried to piece their words, words he'd been turning and examining over time.

_ "You know what time they'll be down?" _A quiet voice, raspy and young. He spoke with a drag, one subvocal after another. He was new, relatively speaking; a replacement for the last one. His name is Tivus.

A snort, or the turian equivalent to one. _ "You don't know?" _ His voice was throaty, stronger and confident with age evident in it's delivery. His voice was more aggressive than Tivus, more experienced. This one's name is Relix. He'd been here the longest out of all his captors, lasting 601 days, 601 times his footsteps waited by the door and left. Keeping count of how many times they'd left him alone was the only routine he could follow to keep from going insane. He thought for a moment, digging the number out of his depths.

_ 16936\. _

16936 days have passed since they took the stars away. 16936 days since he'd felt fresh air on his face. 16936 days since they bound him and threw him away. 16936 days with no hope of escape. 

16936 days since he made a grave mistake, one he wouldn't have made had he still had...

He was in the right place at the wrong time.

Batarian Slavers were raiding turian planets, attacking villages and small towns that couldn't defend themselves. Turian's are a military race, each member of the species raised from childhood to wield a gun and fire back. But it was never enough. He never saw them in the act, but he'd find the aftermath. Abandoned homes, smoldering fires and dead or dying stock that were too big a liability to take. Entire communities turned into ghost towns, and there was nothing anyone could do. He'd find dead fathers and mothers that had tried to protect their kin, but were met with a bullet to the head, if they were lucky. Too many times he'd found violated women, left to bleed out from slit throats or stab wounds. They weren't human, but he felt for them nonetheless. But the worst was finding the corpses of dead children, with their parents nowhere to be seen. 

Despair drove him to envy his old friend, who didn't have to see what atrocities were committed in this galaxy. But rage drove him to hunt down those who were responsible. 

Slavers. The very word disgusted him to the core. He thought he had left them behind with the P'fhor, but it was fruitless to get his hopes up in the idea that things would be different. Now, the only thing different was their number of eyes. 

He followed them to their planet, a seemingly abandoned world. Far away from the Council's grasp, the Batarian's lived like kings, exploiting the fruit of their labor to their hearts content. It wasn't hard to find them really; all he had to do was find a slave ship, and follow. 

Truthfully, he had caught them off guard, crashing what seemed to be a city-wide party. He got their attention soon enough, when the first shots rang out. 

In the blur of orange and red, he started to feel a sense of nostalgia, being reminded of his antic on L'howon. If he closed his eyes, the turians could easily have been BoBs. But the P'fhor were clever, and so were the slavers. Once they realized he'd been deliberately avoiding hurting the slaves, they chose to protect a more valuable merchandise: themselves. 

The first time he shot a turian, he wasn't expecting it. He had finally made it to their central compound, and was in the middle of clearing out the floors when he fired into a room using his newly acquired Eviscerator shotgun. He flinched in surprise when blue blood covered his visor, and not orange. Wiping it off, he saw a batarian holding a screaming boy as a bodyshield. The batarian grinned, and motioned for his friends to open fire. 

That was when he switched from guns, to his hands. 

Three days and three nights had passed, and in the meantime he had razed this pirate haven to the ground, building by building, block by block. Eventually, he made it to the very last one. It was screaming at him in his accursed language, tongue flapping just like T'fear had once. No translation was needed to understand he wasn't saying anything polite. His four eyes looked into his two, getting the message across to his demise.

Fear. 

For once, he felt pity for one of his kind.. He would've laughed at the very idea had he not just killed over what he surmised to be a thousand batarian mercenaries. 

He stood over the dying alien, and raised his boot to finish the job. But the pirates face went from one of fear to glee. Smiling up at him, the batarian lifted his arm to reveal something in his grip. 

The last thing he saw before waking up in chains was a flash of light.

* * *

They were speaking again. 

_ "You let me do the talking," _ Relix growled. _ "Fedorian's tough on new blood." _

_ "O-okay," _ Tivus stuttered. _ "Do we have to go in with them?" _

Inside?

_ "Most of the time. Sometimes they can be a bit abrasive, but we're mostly just here to make sure _ ** _he_ ** _ doesn't try anything funny." _

_ "I thought that he—it's tied up. They said he can't even move." _He could hear the fear in his quavering vocals.

_ "Oh he can't move, just his head. You don't have to worry about anything, he barely even flinches these days," _Relix chuckled.

_ "Well, if he can only move his head—" _

_ "You wanna know what happened to the guy you replaced?" _

_ "Not really." _

_ "His mandible was bitten off 'cuz he got a little too close." _ He remembered that day. The punishment he got after was well worth tasting that bastards blood, and hearing his pathetic screams. _ "It's why he wears that muzzle." _

_ "Spirits. I didn't know humans could be so...savage." _

_ "Let me make it clear to you, that _ ** _thing _ ** _ is not human, not in the slightest. Maybe he was at some point, but now he's just a freak. He doesn't even have to eat." _

_ "Really? Why not?" _

_ "As much as he likes to make us think otherwise, he's still breathing isn't he? Besides, do you want to end up like the last guy?" _

The turian's silence spoke volumes.

_ "Relax. Like I said, you don't have to—hold on." _Something must have caught Relix's attention.

_ "What is it?" _

_ "Just got a message from the director. Want's to speak with me apparently." _

_ "About what?" _

Relix chuckled again._ "Well, the subject does say 'promotion.'" _ He heard footsteps getting fainter and fainter. _ "Stay here, I'll be back sooner or later." _

_ "Aren't there supposed to be two of us here at all times?" _

_ "Trust me, nothing ever happens down here, and nothing will. If you get uneasy, put on some music or something." _

_ "O-okay." _ Relix's footsteps faded out completely, leaving him in total silence yet again. 

He closed his eyes, and wondered what the sky looked like today.

* * *

Relix watched Tivus shift in place as the elevator door shealed shut. He snorted; never would he have expected Blackwatch to assign someone so young to keep an eye on their one and only resident. From what he’d been told, only the most experience of personnel would be considered for the posting. They don’t tend to ask too many questions. How a fledgling like Tivus made it in was a mystery to him. Perhaps he’ll ask the director when he sees him, he mused.

The elevator ride was shorter than before, probably because he was distracted by his thoughts. It slowed to a halt, slightly jostling him before the door slid open to reveal a spotlessly white room, with a glass door at the end. He could see a desk through the glass, a turian with blue markings sitting behind it. The turian in question was tapping away at his omni-tool, a bored look on his face. Relix walked up to the door, tapping on the glass. The turian tore his attention away from whatever he was up to, and waved at Relix with a lopsided grin. He pointed at his desk, most likely at the console that controls the door, and flapped his mandibles in question.

“Asshole,” Relix muttered. He nodded his head in frustration. The turian opened the door in dramatic fashion, slowly dropping his talon onto the computer. The door unlocked with a click. Relix walked through the threshold, a frown creeping into his features. Dropping his rifle off at his locker, he turned to the smirking turian.

“It wasn’t funny the first dozen times, and it’s not funny now, Tertius.” 

“Not to you, maybe, but the look on your face never fails to make my heart soar.” He laughed at his own jest. Relix would’ve shouted at him, but he had accustomed to his colleagues ridiculous antics a while ago. He sighed, calming his nerves in a familiar fashion. He spoke to Tertius in a neutral tone. 

“I’ll be back soon, hopefully.” Tertius’s eyes followed Relix as he made his way to the empty security checkpoint on the other side of the room. 

“Where you headed? Your shift doesn’t end in another…” He checked his omni-tool. “two hours”

“I know, but the director wants to see me personally.”

“Director Floso? He’s in today?” Unification Day was one of the few holidays that relieved turians from a day of work. Most opt to participate and spend time with family or relax, but some like Relix would rather work an extre few credits. His family and friends were either offworld or busy. Likely one of the reasons he was given his posting, he thought. 

“Apparently so. That Felkranan boy is down there, so you don’t have to worry.”

Tertius snorted. “Haven’t worried in over 10 years. The most exciting part of my day is seeing you mosey through.” Relix walked through the metal detector, ignoring the blaring alarms.

He shouted back at Tertius, “I’m touched,” and made his way to the main lobby. He walked past empty desks and locked doors, most with keypads that required authorization. Relix was authorized for exactly two doors in the building: the entrance, and the one monitored by Tertius. 

The first time he had entered this building, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting. Tales of Blackwatch described acts of evil being committed inside their central HQ. He never expected them to be true, but even less so at the idea of all of it being so boring. After almost twenty years of being in their ranks, he had grown numb to almost everything he heard inside. 

Almost. 

They never told him why he was guarding a single door, why the door looked to be thicker than starship hulls, why there was so much security, and why the only thing inside was a single occupant, bound in the oldest steel he’d ever seen. 

Until only recently, he had no clue as to what it was, only that it was absolutely not turian, or of any known species in the galaxy for that matter. The few times he’d managed to get a good look at it he never could make out its exact details. It wore rustic, cracked armor from the shoulders downward, stained in red and orange that clashed with its copper green. The director had told him that they had tried before to remove its armor, but none of their tools could break through. The only skin visible was above the neck. He could only ever make it it’s pale, flat face, with black fuzz on it’s head and a jagged bump protruding from the middle of it’s face, similar to an asari’s nose. He never focused too much on the face, lest he catches its eyes.

He shuddered at the memory. 

After Relay 314 and the arrival of the humans, he began to question the nature of his prisoner. He had met humans in the past, mostly on the Citadel before he moved back to Cipritine, and the ones he had come across wereodd, but still very much alive. They would drink, joke, and sleep like every other species. Admittedly, he thought they were a bit strange with how much they moved their face muscles, but that’s all it was: weird. 

The “human” 700 feet below did no such things.

Relix had originally questioned to himself how the Hierarchy had come across a human years before First Contact, but he quickly realized he was mistaken. Unlike the humans he was worked with, it never spoke or made any noise, only watched. It used to be they would feed him water and levo food. That was until Situs got too close to examine its eyes, and was gifted with a missing mandible and a broken jaw. 

They stopped feeding it after that, originally only for a day or two for safety. Then they were told to stop feeding it at all, and that was when they put the muzzle around it’s face. Even when Relix was locking the thing in place, it didn’t make a sound. 

He stopped asking questions shortly after that.

Walking through the lobby, he stepped over the Blackwatch seal, a crimson star surrounded by the names of the Hierarchy colonies. His family hailed from Palaven, primarily Cipritine, granting him some respect amongst the elite due to his family’s history. He went up the only stairs in the building onto the second floor. This floor was mostly taken up by a large open room, with desks strewn about for the currently absent workers. His eyes took note of the weapons locker conveniently placed right next to the water cooler. Even in paperwork, Blackwatch took pride in being paranoid.

Right now, his target was a door emblazoned with the name of director of Blackwatch.

_Janus Floso, Director_

Relix knew little about his enigmatic overseer. They had spoken occasionally, and Relix got the impression that the man wasn’t exactly sociable, so a summon for him directly must be important. He was hoping he’d finally get re-assigned from this unsettling place. He'd been assigned to watching over prisoners before, but not for this long, and not for something that never even speaks.

Upon reaching the door, he noticed that it was unlocked. Odd, considering where he was, but the director must be expecting him. He spoke outloud as the door opened. 

“Director Floso, I came as quick as—”

Relix was greeted with an empty room. 

_ Huh? _

Examining his surroundings, he frowned. Floso had just messaged him, why wouldn’t he—

He froze, a chilling thought sinking in, soon followed by one of panic. 

_ No no no no— _

He booked it out of the directors office, and ran to the weapons locker in a frenzy. After grabbing a shotgun and loading it with a thermal clip, he didn’t bother closing it before storming down the stairs. 

His mind was racing. Surely he’s overthinking this, that it’s all just a false alarm. It was just a hunch, really. 

But the director wasn’t here. And he had left the new guy alone. 

* * *

He was woken by an unfamiliar noise, a rare noise he hadn't heard in a long time. 

At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks yet again, so he ignored it and closed his eyes. But he knew he had heard it again. 

Raising his eyes, he tracked the source of the noise. The door clicked, the sound bouncing off the circular walls. A whine of air, then a whir as the massive door slowly opened, it's main blast shield rising into the upper wall.

His mind reeling from shock, he quickly remembered what would follow when the door would open, and shut his eyes forcefully to block the blinding glare. As the door rose, he felt the pressure of light crawl up his armor, and up his face. Eventually, the noise stopped with a click. 

He didn’t dare open his eyes now, whether out of fear or denial he didn’t know. 

Footsteps, no longer muffled by matter, tapped their way toward him. Then a voice. 

“This is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever done,” Tivus breathed. His words were unsteady, breathing rapidly in fear. 

Waiting for an opportunity, he—

_ Roland. _

Waiting for an opportunity, Roland remained motionless, his head limp. He felt Tivus get closer, mumbling to himself. 

“Shit shit shit shit shit.” Curiosity getting the better of him, Roland slowly opened an eye to see what was going on. Tivus was standing in front of him, swiping tiles on his device. He had heard them describe it as an “omni-tool.” 

“Relix said you’re aware, that you can see—at least hear me right now. I don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll be brief.” He swallowed, and looked up at Roland, the androids eyes boring into him. 

“I’m here to cut you free. Believe you me, I’d rather be literally anywhere else right now, but I have no choice.” Tivus pressed a button on his omni-tool, and Roland felt the weight tied around his ankles fall away with a thud. He was releasing his bonds.

He was setting him _ free _. 

Was he still dreaming?

“The people who sent me, they want to help you. They can help you get off world and away from…” He gulped. “From us.” Tivus then tore his eyes off of Roland, and pressed another button on his omni-tool. 

Roland heard a click, and fell to the floor, his arms no longer clamped in metal.

For the first time in so, so long, he was _ free_. 

The turian jumped when he landed, but continued to frantically type away on his tool. 

“They’re going to be here any minute now, so please stay with me.” Roland wasn’t listening. 

He could barely pay attention while he was examining his hands.

Hands that could _ move _. He flexed them, curling them up and down. 

It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, starstruck at the sight of finally being free.

Tivus kneeled to face Roland, and he tore his eyes off to finally get a good look at the turian. He knew nothing about their biology, but even Roland could tell Tivus was young. His plates were clean, and full of color, blue striking against a cold black. He reached behind Roland, and touched the clasp of his muzzle. 

“One last thing.” The muzzle fell away.

Free. 

“The people who sent me, their name is Cer—”

Tivus never finished his sentence, as his words were cut off by cold, dead hands grabbing him in the face.

* * *

He didn’t spare any time, in reaching the security checkpoint, the faint noise of the metal detector ringing in his ears. Tertius was yet again looking bored, his eyes half closed as he listened to music. He quickly shot them open in response to Relix’s booming voice. 

“Tertius! Wake the fuck up!” The formerly slumped turian jumped, knocking his feet off the desk. He tore his earpieces off and stood up.

“Relix? What are you screaming about? And why are you holding a gun?”

“I’ll explain later. Open the door.” Tertius hesitated under Relix’s burning gaze. 

“Spirits, now!”

Tertius nodded, and tapped a button on his console. “I thought you were with the director?” he spoke.

Relix checked his shotgun. “The director wasn’t there.”

“Then how did you…wait, you don’t think.” 

“Right now I don’t know what to think. Get on the emergency line, and get some reinforcements here as soon as possible.” He reached up to his fringe, and pushed in an earpiece. “Turn on coms. Be ready to lock this place down on my word, understood.” The turian nodded, and Relix stepped through the glass door to enter the elevator. He slammed the button to go down, and watched the elevator close. 

As the levels descended, he contemplated the situation.

_ There’s no way foul work is at play, i’m just panicking, it’s just a false alarm… _ He repeated that same sentence over and over, finger resting on the trigger of his shotgun. How could he have been so stupid? Of course the director couldn’t have messaged him, he _ never _ directly messaged anyone. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

The elevator came to a stop. He breathed deep, and raised his gun as the elevator slid open. 

The door at the end of the hall was open. Tivus was nowhere in sight. 

And he heard what sounded like Tivus screaming from inside. He rushed to the end of the hall, the screams getting louder as he got closer. 

_ “Please let me _ — _ PLEASE!” _

Relix ran into the room, shotgun primed to fire. 

And promptly froze in horror. 

The prisoner was no longer hanging like he had been for the past years. Instead, he was closer to the door, hunched on the ground over something. 

Relix saw Tivus writhing underneath the man as he rammed the turians face into the ground, over and over. His mind was screaming at him to do something, anything, but his body refused to listen. Blood, blue blood, was pooling around the two. It was only then did he notice Tivus was missing an arm. 

The prisoner stopped his assault on the poor turians face, raising it up to reveal a brutalized Tivus, jaw slack in shock. Tivus locked eyes with Relix, screaming at him. 

Tivus mumbled through broken teeth.

“Please…” 

Placing his grip around the top of his mouth, the prisoner tore Tivus’s jaw off in a spectacle of exploding blue. Finally, the man stood at his full height, taller than any human Relix had ever seen. 

And he was looking right at him. 

Relix did the only thing his body remembered how to do. 

He didn’t raise his weapon and fire at his target like he’d been trained all his life to do. He did the most shameful thing a turian would ever dream of doing. 

He turned around and ran for the elevator, faster than he’d ever before in his life. 

_ What had he done? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m referring to this image for the Security Officers appearance  
http://marathon.bungie.org/temp/cmullins.html?image=aftermath  
Oh man. I took my time with this one, up until the end. Honestly I’m still kind of dissatisfied with it. Let me know if you think it's better than the previous chapters, and thank you for reading.  
I did not proofread, so I might tidy it up later. If you think it’s moving too fast, please let me know.


	5. Spike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continues ch.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rushed through this because I was sick and tired of putting this off for so long. I will read through and fix this later. For now, please enjoy, and feedback is appreciated. Apologies for the very, VERY rough draft.

Chaos.

Blood.

Screams and moans.

Silence.

His name is Roland, and he is free.

And bleeding.

The pain is distant, but he can feel it gradually growing as he tries to run to the glass doors. One of those aliens— _ Turians _ —had managed to land a shot in one of the gaps in his armor during the chaos, adding on to the dozen other pieces of shrapnel embedded somewhere in his flesh. He hadn’t felt it, too occupied with breaking each and every one of the oily demons’ skulls in. In the high of finally being free again, he had forgotten how much it hurts to move. With every single step and bend he can feel his insides tear again and again. 

No time to rest. 

He can see light outside. 

_ Light.  _

He shoulders the doors open. 

And is blinded.

He can taste sunlight, and  _ air _ . 

He can breathe in without choking on his own stench for the first time in—

A short series of clicks. 

Did he hear  _ “Contact _ —?”

A gunshot ripples through the air. 

And Roland is knocked back as what feels like a massive punch drives into his chest, causing him to stumble and lose his breath. 

In his stupor and momentary blindness, he had failed to take in his surroundings. The facility they had help him in had a courtyard, and parking nearby to his left. Only two vehicles: a silver one, resembling some sort of car but without wheels. 

And another, this one with wheels. Boxy. Large. Almost resembling a tank. With two armed soldiers standing right beside it, both aiming towards him.   
Smoke is emanating from one of the Turian’s rifles. 

Roland manages to snap out of it before they start to open fire. 

Ignoring the excruciating pain, he kicks into a sprint and makes a break for the courtyard, dodging the hail of bullets trailing behind him. 

Too open, too exposed. 

On the other side of the courtyard, a road leading off from the parking lot and to a checkpoint on the right. He can see more soldiers storming up from there. 

On his left, another checkpoint, and another tank is slowly rolling through the metal barriers. 

One more path. Past the road. 

A jungle, with tall trees bearing leaves and markings he does not recognize. 

Every voice in his head agrees with the decision he quickly forms.

With legs that haven’t been used in years, powered by lungs coated in dust, Roland sprints faster than he ever has, trying not to focus on the slowly surrounding alien soldiers coated in black armor. 

He reaches the end of the courtyard when they open fire. 

Even he isn’t fast enough to avoid the barrage of pain from both sides. 

An orchestra of bullets and buckshot coat him like a shell, and he can’t hear it, but he can feel himself scream as he dives into the thicket of green and brown. 

The ground gives away, and Roland’s heart jumps as he eats mud. 

He sees red. 

Then nothing.

After what feels like an eternity, yet at the same time no time at all, he opens his eyes. 

His body is contorted so he’s lying prone, face somewhat sunken in leaves, tasting dirt and blood. 

He tries to move, and instantly regrets it as what may be the worst pain he’s ever felt lights up everywhere in his body. He’d scream, but the ache in his chest protests tearfully. Another attempt to move, and his vision blurs. His armor feels heavier than a mountain, and there’s nothing more he wants to do than just give up and die. 

_ Not like this. Not here.  _

_ I will not die. _

Distant voices, clicks and snarls, echo from behind, at the top of the hill.

_ “He’s down here!” _

_ “Go for the shot!” _

He closes his eyes to block out the devouring red void, and digs his fingers into the mud. Gritting his teeth and biting down with enough force to break his jaw, and scrambles to his feet, and runs blindly, begging, praying to whatever force is out there to guide him out of there. 

The vines underneath his feet deform with each step, and his massive weight manages to prevent him from being slowed by any stray root or rock. The pain in his leg has become so unbearable that he’s dragging it behind him with a limp. 

The voices are following him. 

_ “By the Spirits, how is he still alive?” _

_ “Slow him down, damn it!”  _

Clicks that almost sound like words he knows, but he can’t fully form their meanings over the pounding in his ears. He can only breathe, and run, get as far away as possible. 

He hears music, and he opens his eyes. 

The song of running water is close. 

_ Water _ . 

Dropping any pretense of preserving his leg, he pushes past the crying limbs protests, and breaks into a full sprint in the direction of the water. 

A faint whisper of erupting gas echoes from behind. 

And he cries out as a new agony punctures his good leg, toppling him face first into the ground. Writhing on the ground, he orients himself on his back to look down at his leg. 

His breathing hitches when he spots what halted him in his charge.

A barbed harpoon as long as his forearm is skewered into his leg. Three prongs at the end bend inward, and Roland quickly realizes that the thing is never coming out the way it came in. Trailing the other end of the spike is a thick metal wire, going several meters away into the direction he had came from. 

Two armored imps are storming towards him, and Roland can see one of them is holding a rifle with a large barrel, the wire connected to its end.

They’re trying to  _ hunt _ him. 

Using the last functioning limbs he has, Roland tries to crawl away in the hopes of reaching the nearby body of water. He made barely any progress when he hears their closing strides. 

A weight lands on his back, and his chest screams as he is pushed into the ground. 

The Turian on top of him growls, “You’re not going anywhere, freak.” The other one quickly catches up, and Roland hears him exhale through deep breaths.

“Sedate him, before he does any more damage.” 

“I’ll sedate him alright,” and the Turian reaches for its pistol.

_ NO. _

Unbeknownst rage rises from inside of him, and Roland rolls over with a snarl, kicking out the Turian’s leg on top of him and knocking him over. The soldier warbles out a curse and lands directly on Roland, face exposed to his own. 

Roland doesn’t think at all what to do next. 

He grabs the Turians cowl with both hands, ignoring the soldiers desperate swipes on his own face. 

He sinks his teeth into one of its vulnerable mandibles, and tears it off in a spray of blue. 

His ears ring as the alien in his grip screams in agony, flailing in an attempt to get free. But Roland holds on not in fear, but anger, and biting down on its screeching maw, he pulls. 

The Turian’s screams cut short as he bites off its jaw, a fountain of blue blood washing over him. 

He doesn’t see the other Turian rush up to him until he feels cold metal on his forehead. Blinking away the blood, he sees the long barrel of a sniper rifle staring down at him.

The barrel explodes—

* * *

_ Names.  _

_ Faces.  _

_ Red hair?  _

_ Familiar voices.  _

_ One louder than the others.  _

_ Don’t go Joy _ —

* * *

—and he feels his entire skeleton shake as the bullet impacts his cranium. 

The gunshot carries through the trees, and Roland slowly catches his breath as he realizes he is still alive. 

The Turian soldier stares down at him with its jaw agape. 

Roland grins.

Before it can fire again, he swipes the rifle away, and leaps up, dragging the Turian down to the ground. 

He doesn’t even give it time to scream before driving his fist into its head, sinking it in with a crunch. 

Silence.

The only sound he can hear is his own breathing. 

And a growing roar in the distance. 

Wasting no time, Roland pushes aside the corpses of the two Blackwatch commandos, and snatches at the wire connected to his leg. Bringing it up to his face, he doesn’t consider searching for a knife to cut it, and instead bites into it with his teeth. 

Miraculously, his jaw and molars don’t break as the wire snaps. Finally free from the gun, Roland scrambles to his two feet, and runs. 

The water is getting louder, enough to drown out the ringing in his ears. 

The branches and shrubs start to thin, and Roland stops.

The ground stops at a drop. Making sure to watch his footing, he carefully edges closer to gaze below. 

A monstrous river, buried deep below the cliff, runs and goes on to his right, disappearing around another cliff face. 

He thinks about when was the last time he’d tasted water. 

He ignores his minds warnings, and listens to his dried throat’s whispers. 

The river is singing again, this time in his name.

He closes his eyes, and lets go. 

He passes out before he finishes the fall. 


	6. Alone

Something in the back of his head gently pushes into his eardrums, a white noise trickling in the distance.

Warm waves wash over and under him, flowing into his ear canals and scalp. The surface underneath him feels rough and textured, hard. 

Moments ago he was weightless, and calm. Someone was carrying him.

Is he dreaming again?

He hasn’t opened his eyes. 

He feels warm. 

Wet.

Another wave washes over him, and pulls away, dragging him further out of his trance.

The waves were carrying him before. 

Letting out a soft groan, he tries to lift his chest up, but gives up upon feeling the mass of his armor. The iron coated around him feels more like a burden than ever, and he is more than content to simply lie down for all eternity if it means he can get some rest.

When was the last time he’d gotten some good sleep? 

The water rises with another breath, and exhales away, slowly down his back and past his ankles. The occasional wave is a welcome reprieve for the dull, sore pain crushing him down. More than anything, he wants to feel it on his skin, beneath the iron and coated around him. 

He waits for the waves to rise again before opening his mouth. 

Cold water rushes into his mouth, and he gags at the frigid ache that rises in his jaw. But even that is nothing to the sensation in his throat, racing to his mind.

Water. 

Another wave, another clumsy gulp, still motionless from where he lies. For what feels like another hundred years, Roland basks on wherever shore he landed upon and lets the tide wash over him again and again, drinking as much water he can with each incoming wave. The river water is pure and clean, soothing his insides and easing the soreness in his torso. He tries to take in more, and immediately regrets doing so as water leaks into his windpipe, causing him to seize and gag. For the next several minutes, he coughs out whatever liquids in his lungs. 

The pain begins to rise once more right around then. 

Roland shudders from the ache in his bones, his sore muscles. Taking a deep breath while the tide is pulling back, he pushes himself up onto his forearms. The wave returns to promptly drop him down onto the ground, and he flinches as his nose impacts the rock, swearing internally. It was a lost cause; his nose never had a chance to correctly heal from the constant abuse of combat and gunfire. Roland gave up trying to keep his face somewhat in shape years ago, and frankly stopped caring shortly afterwards. It’s a miracle he still has his features, he thought. 

There were far more important things to worry about, anyway. 

Not wanting to waste his energy again, he searches around him for anything to grip and pull himself away. He feels the end of something long and thin, and grabs at what he presumes to be a vine. Making sure his grip is tight, he pulls with force, only for the vine to snap and go loose. 

The water rises over him with gentle care, but Roland feels as if the waves are dragging him down further. 

He clenches his fists, tight enough to dig into the skin under his gloves, and sighs.

He opens his eyes. 

The first thing he notices is how dark it is. The setting sun has long since run its course, but even in the dead of night the air is humid enough to keep it warm. The surface he shored upon is smooth, made of some stone that's been visibly eroded by the water over time. Under the cover of night, the rocks are almost pitch black. 

The water had carried him onto a shore. How far away from his escape or how long he’s been out, he does not know. 

The only sound he can hear is the constant rush of water.

He lifts his neck to get a better look at the source. Rising several hundred feet in the air, some distance away, is a waterfall, feeding into a wide basin before him. The pool is completely clear, yet cloaked in blackness from the night sky. He can see it funnel off into downstream. He takes a glance at the falling water. The cliff is covered in spots of alien foliage, almost shimmering in the light of something above. 

A night sky, as beautiful as the ones from his dreams. Two moons, one smaller than the other, hang ominously over him. 

The faceless spheres watch him with anticipation.

The only place he can recall is L’howon, a memory so distant he still questions if he can even say for certain he remembers any of it at all. 

With no other living creature in sight, and the repeating rise of water covering him every moment or so, Roland can’t deny or push the sensation overriding every other emotion inside. 

Calm. 

He musters up the strength to move again, pushing himself up to his knees. His bones and muscles protest for mercy, but he ignores them as best as he can.

As he rises to his leg, however, one protest arises that he can’t ignore. 

A sharp sting ignites in his leg, and Roland gasps before falling back to his knees. Confused as to why his leg refused to cooperate, he looks down, and relents. He had forgotten about the harpoon buried in his calf. The adrenaline that had been rushing through him moments earlier—more like hours earlier, he thinks—meant he could ignore it for the most part, but now, with no energy left and only water to fuel him, the pure, unfiltered pain is agonizing.

He looks away from the river, and into the jungle in front of him. 

The trees stare back at him in warning. In the dead of dusk, their presence looks no more welcoming than the prison he had just barely escaped.

There’s no way he can drag himself through that. A jungle meant life, and Roland was in no shape to defend himself.

His head drops, struggling to accept what he has to do. With no other choice in the matter, he takes deep breaths, quickly establishing a pattern of deep inhales and exhales. 

A minute of doing just that. It feels like a century.

Inhaling deep, he stands up on his good leg. 

_ At least the easy part’s out of the way _. 

His breathing wavers, the spike growing more and more apparent with each passing second. 

Taking in one more deep breath, he raises his other leg. 

He manages to keep himself from screaming.

* * *

The waterfall is long behind him, as is the compound.

As are the Turians. 

Minutes and steps. Hours and miles. 

Further and further, he delves into the alien world. 

One step solid, the other shaky. 

Each one with his injured leg, he has to bite down a curse. No amount of water can quench his thirst, or soften his dry throat and tongue. He can’t afford to stop too long to sleep. 

He hadn’t seen any of them in hours, but he’s heard them. 

The roar of a gunship would echo in the distance, and Roland quickly got to cover as fast as he could whenever it approached, making sure not to worsen his leg any further.

He has grown numb to the pain. Over time, he has trained himself to focus on moving forward, one foot in front of the other. But there’s only so much he can do before his body begins to collapse.

He cannot ignore exhaustion.

Well over a thousand steps, and he has yet to encounter life beyond bugs, what he assumes are lizards, and trees with no bark that seem to go on forever. If there are any fish in the river, he wouldn’t be able to tell, not in the pitch black. In the moments he stops to give his leg and body time to rest, he can slow his breathing, and hear life beyond the forest floor, and above the trees. 

Cries. Calls. Alien fauna speaking in alien languages in an alien world. 

He swears they’re saying his name, but every time he tries to make out the cries, he is only rewarded with silence, and the running water of the river. 

The air speaks to him, but it's too quiet for him to understand.

Even when he was imprisoned, he at least had some form of company in his “caretakers.” 

He kicks at a rock, cursing himself for almost missing that place. 

Kicking the rock did nothing for him, however. He watched it fly into the river, and get swallowed by the void.

He can’t bring himself to talk to himself. Every time he tries, his throat catches. The words he tries to form are alien.

In an alien world, in an alien forest, Roland has never felt more alone.

* * *

L’howon had taught him many things. How to make a fire, for one. 

Finding a rock was easy. The river banks were littered with them. 

Finding kindling had proved to be more difficult than he initially envisioned. The trees are almost organic, soft to the touch. He swears if he looks close enough that they expand and deflate, almost like they’re breathing. The humid weather ensured that everything is at least damp, if not soaked. He piled up as much dead plantlife he could find, with some fallen branches here and there, into a pile in a clearing away from the river. 

Slowly lowering himself down to the ground, while making sure not to shift his weight onto his injured leg, Roland kneels before the kindling with the rock in his hand. 

Raising his arm up to the pit, he lines up his forearm to point down at the kindling.

His search for an ancient S’pht AI led him deep into the depths of L’howon, and the signs of P’fhor camps had long since stopped. Contact with Blake was becoming less and less a certainty, as their fight against the P’fhor was growing more dire each passing day. Eventually, his food had run out, and Roland resorted to eating whatever wildlife he could capture to cook. 

His fuel ran out shortly after.

The nights were cold, almost colder than vacuum, and Roland could feel his nerves slowly dying in the chill. He never thought he’d be in this situation; stranded, alone, practically leading a one-man war against an alien empire. In the long, frigid night, Roland got desperate, and tried to dig through memories of training and find any mention of survival basics he could remember. 

Thankfully, spending years alone with nothing but his thoughts meant he had time to repeat routines in his mind.

Hefting the rock in his hand, he strikes down and across the alloy wrapped around his forearm once. 

A flash of sparks scatter across the leaves and roots.

Nothing. 

He strikes his gauntlet again. 

More sparks. Roland watches each speck streak in the air and dig into the pile.

Wisps of smoke rise. 

Ignoring the ache rising up his forearm, he strikes his gauntlet again, showering the pile with sparks once more. 

One of them catches. 

Roland has to squint to avoid being blinded by the blaze, but he widens them shortly after. 

Fire. 

He made fire. 

He forgets the fact he’d done it at least half a dozen times in the past. He does not care. 

Years and years of having only enough control to choose whether or not to breathe, or to sleep, make the simple act of creating fire more liberating than he ever could have imagined. 

Roland almost smiles. 

After tossing more dry fauna into the flames, he drops down onto the ground with a wet whump. Not like he could stay standing any longer anyway. 

Tired. That’s the word. 

He’s so damn tired.

The amber hearth covers him like a blanket, and Roland lets go.

* * *

Motions nearby. 

Something near his face. 

Tickling?

Roland is awake in an instant, instinctively snatching in front of his face to grab at whatever disturbed him. 

His hand is wrapped tightly around what looks like a lizard, bearing no eyes and only two legs on both sides. The thing squirms in his hand in an attempt to escape. 

He doesn’t think twice about his next course of action, nor does he hesitate. 

Roland ferociously sinks his teeth into the creatures neck, and tears off its head, barely giving any time to chew before continuing with the remains of the lizard. In less than five seconds the lizard is no more, the only evidence of it every existing being the blue blood on Roland’s fingers and his mouth. 

Food. Some honest-to-God protein, first he’s had in years. 

His tongue craves more however, and he proceeds to lick off the blood from his gloved fingers, ignoring the dirt, sweat, and oil, making sure to get as much as possible before stopping to breathe. He sucks his gums to get the last bits of meat out of his teeth. Its blood burns the back of his mouth, but he ignores the pain. All he needs is meat.

He can’t even taste it. 

Finally coming to his senses, he takes his eyes off his fingers, and slows his breathing.

The sun is directly over him, shining through the cracks in the trees. Roland curses. Like an idiot, he slept for far too long. His pursuers are surely following his tracks; not like he can do much to hide them, what with his leg and all. 

Paranoia creeps in, and a dangerous thought strikes him. He’d been in their clutches for years. What’s to stop them from putting a tracker on him? 

If they did, why haven’t they caught up with him yet? 

He scans his surroundings with a tight knot in his chest. No sign of anyone else, but maybe that’s what they want? 

Are they trying to trick him? 

It’s somewhere in him, in his armor, he’s sure of it. Roland clumsily searches his armor for any sign of a tracking beacon, running his fingers over the rusted surfaces. Finding none does not ease his fears. 

Maybe they put it underneath? 

No, they couldn’t get his armor off. 

Is he remembering wrong? 

Roland frantically feels around his suit for a latch, anything to get it off of him before they got to him. They must be watching him right now, they could be closing in to make sure they don’t lose him, damn it he needs to get it **off—**

He digs his fingers into the top of his chest piece and pulls as hard as he can, and he can feel his fingers protest in pain as his armor refuses to give like it always has, but he needs to get it off, he can’t breathe because it’s too heavy, and, and**—**

**“FUCK!”**

He can’t stop the tears. They burn his eyes, but he doesn’t care. Roland drops his hands to hold his head, and curls into a ball. 

His breathing hitches into hyperventilations, and Roland can feel the rising nausea. Unable to control himself, Roland aims his head away before throwing up. The heaving that ensues is burning, and he quickly regrets ever eating the lizard. 

Eventually, his stomach goes empty, but he continues to dry heave until finally calming down, and slowing to a calm. 

He feels cold. 

All he wants is a bed. Warm covers. A hot meal. 

Off this cursed planet. 

Clamping his eyes shut to close off the tears, Roland forces himself through the pain and heaves his form up to standing. 

He hobbles away from the clearing, and back toward the river.

* * *

The gunship hasn’t approached in two nights now. 

Roland doesn’t know if he’d finally shook them off his trail or they had given up. 

Neither scenario sounds plausible. 

Deep into the night, he stumbles along the river bank, his leg growing more numb by the hour, until he hears it. 

He waits for it to repeat again to make sure he isn’t hearing things. 

A voice, further downstream, speaking in their language.

_ “I don’t care if you’ve been working for five hours or five days. Get everything on board in the next five minutes. We’re leaving.” _

A group of affirmations and other obedient words, then silence. 

The echo of a warming engine travels upstream. 

Roland limps as fast as his legs can carry him down the river.


End file.
